Flint Madden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flint_garou) wrote2012-01-17 06:00 pm
flint_garou) wrote2012-01-17 06:00 pm
Entry tags:
Apologies and understandings.
Some things don't change.
17 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (41% full).
It's oddly quiet in the bunkroom. Or maybe not oddly quiet, there isn't often much activity within, with cubs being out for lessons or chores. But Devon's inside, on his bunk. Though facing the wall, his head is propped up with one arm. His laptop is opened in front of him, the screen dimly glowing though there seems to be little activity upon it.
Rather light footsteps echo in the hallway, before Flint ducks into the cubroom, pulling off jacket and sweatshirt as he enters. They're draped over his arm for a moment, and there's a moment of pause given when the cub notices Devon. "Uh, hey," he says. "I won't be long, or anything." A faint shrug is offered, as Flint pauses at the ladder to his bunk, shedding his shoes and throwing the jacket and sweatshirt up to the top.
Devon's gaze turns toward Flint, though he remains fully faced toward his computer. "Told you, it's your room too," he says quietly, gently pressing down the cover to his laptop then sliding it to rest between the wall and his mattress. "You don't have to run off right away unless someone's expecting you. —Or you want to." He still faces the wall, back to the room.
"Was just seeing if you wanted space," Flint says, before climbing the first few rungs to the top bunk. "Not that—," is added aloud, abruptly and more absently, most likely not directed at Devon at all. "Anyway." A moment passes, before the boy climbs back down, backpack in hand, retreating to sit on the floor and dig through it.
Neither is there movement, nor acknowledgement from Devon at first. He's silent, still but for a slight shift of his shoulders as he breathes. A long breath is exhaled, a little tense. "Sorry for yelling at you, Flint," he says after a while, still to the wall.
Flint seems mostly to be straightening what few possessions are in the backpack, because after a moment, it's zipped shut again, pushed over to next to his shoes idly. "'Sokay," the boy says, quiet. "Forgiven, and all."
"Thanks," Devon returns, more quietly and after another lengthy pause. He falls quiet again, seconds lengthening before there's movement from his bunk. Sitting up, he half turns toward Flint, though he's still directing his gaze elsewhere. "I didn't mean what I said either," he continues, arms hooking over his knees. "I don't think you're rude, and not all that lazy. —I was wrong."
Flint looks at Devon for only half a second, leaning back on his hands. "Thanks," the cub offers. "I'm sorry for being so snappish back at you, and all." Regardless that Flint's already apologised for this, it's repeated, the boy's gaze eventually settling on the ceiling.
Devon lifts one shoulder, a very typical answer from him. "Not like I didn't deserve it," he replies. "Fat moons just… make everything a hundred times worse." His head tips forward, chin toward chest, gaze resting on his blanket. It looks as though there's more he'd like to say, lips slightly parted and pulled back from his teeth, brows creased. A moment passes before he shakes his head, letting out another of those breaths.
Flint lets the silence continue for several moments longer when Devon stops speaking, fidgeting on the floor. "De nada," he eventually says, "'kay? It happens." Expression turns to a tight line for a moment, as Flint considers wording, but there's a shrug, nothing actually said.
"Happens too much," the Ahroun states, more to himself than to Flint. "I'm such a failure. This whole thing… I should've… I don't know."
"You're not a failure," Flint retorts after a moment. "Or a fuck up. Or." The cub looks over at the bunk bed. "If you want to, or whatever, help me with my sparring, I need it. But you're not a failure." If the juxtaposition of the two topics is random, the boy doesn't bring it up.
Devon shakes his head, even as Flint starts refuting his claim. His eyes close, part wince, part exhaustion. "I can, but… You're wrong. I tried so hard to prove I was a Glass Walker, to prove… That I could be a cub Mouse and everyone'd be proud of. And it's just… I don't know. They don't seem to be ever. It's like I'm always screwing up somewhere, even when I haven't done anything."
Flint furrows his brow a bit, but the cub doesn't apparently know the right things to say, though it's clear he thinks of — and discards — several options.
"Kevin's mad at me now," Devon goes on to explain. "He asked and… I thought… I just tried telling him how I felt about things here and now he's probably wishing I'd not come here, too. Mouse hardly talks to me, just puts me to grunt work, cleaning up after everything. Kavi's done with me now that I'm not a cub, hardly ever see him since his obligations as far as I go are filled."
Flint raises a hand to rub at his forehead, quiet for a moment longer. "It's a busy time, or something, amongst everything else," the boy says, thoughtful. "Even I haven't seen Kavi much other than pretty briefly, since." Since the slight lecture on respect that the both of them got, but that gets a shrug rather than said, and the boy pushes himself to his feet, leaning against the ladder to the bunkbed.
"Too busy to take a minute and ask how you're doing," Devon asks. He looks at Flint, conflicted in how much he's said already and what other fears or insecurities he'd like to put out there. "No one's ever approached me just to see how I was. Always been some lesson, something I did wrong or could've done better or needed to know for an eventuality. No one asked how I felt after we brought in that new cub."
"Killing that guy, and all?" Flint asks quietly, listening intently but politely the entire time that Devon speaks.
Devon nods after a moment. "I get that I'm supposed to do it and all. I'm an Ahroun, it's part of the job. Just… It… He was too far gone to save, I know that. But… what I did…"
"What you did," Flint says, still soft-spoken, "is kill a scumbag who probably didn't deserve very much to begin with." Brow furrows. "When we went after the guy that ran, he. It came out, they'd tried to attack her." There's a spat of disgust in his voice as he says that. "But, yeah."
"Doesn't make me feel any better about killing someone." Devon leans forward, forehead rubbing against his wrists. "It was just… cold calculative murder. Every other time it's been survival, but that… He'd've died anyway."
Flint nods, looking over at Devon. "Fair enough," he says. "He would have, yeah. Nothing's going to change that."
Devon sighs and shakes his head. "Sorry," he says, low toned and self dismissive. He unfolds himself, feet lowering to the floor. "Shouldn't dump these things on you. I'll …go, take my failures elsewhere."
"How many times…" Flint mutters, the words trailing off. It's not actually exasperated, though, more concerned. "It's okay, really," he tells Devon. "I listen good," the words lapse from the usual composure of the longer efforts at interaction, a little rougher at the edges. "And I dun mind."
"You might not mind," Devon says quietly, fishing out his shoes. "I do. You've got enough to worry about, Rite of Passage to get ready for and all." He pulls one shoe on, tying it. "You see Kevin, tell him I'm sorry?"
Flint nods, brow furrowing just a little further. "Stay and help me work on sparring and that stuff, then," the cub offers as an alternative, a change of topic more or less. "Don't have to talk, or anything."
"Not tonight," Devon answers, pulling on his second shoe. "I… it… Right now might be better if I go for a walk. Think I'll head down to Edgewood for the night. If tomorrow's better, we can work then."
Flint nods, pulling himself up a few rungs of the bunkbed at a time, backpack in hand until he reaches the top. "Don't be too hard on yourself, 'kay? I'll see you. And if I see Kevin, I will."
Devon stands, after tying the second shoe. He drags a hand over the top of his head before picking his jacket up off his bunk. "Thanks," he says, glancing toward Flint briefly. He pulls his jacket on as he walks toward the door.
Backpack is thrown to the corner of the bed where it lives, before Flint just lays down on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. "De nada, 'kay?" It's a question, but not one the cub is expecting an answer for.
Devon glances over his shoulder, not really toward Flint but in his general direction. He nods slowly as he turns back to the door, it's pulled closed quietly once he's out in the hall.
17 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (41% full).
It's oddly quiet in the bunkroom. Or maybe not oddly quiet, there isn't often much activity within, with cubs being out for lessons or chores. But Devon's inside, on his bunk. Though facing the wall, his head is propped up with one arm. His laptop is opened in front of him, the screen dimly glowing though there seems to be little activity upon it.
Rather light footsteps echo in the hallway, before Flint ducks into the cubroom, pulling off jacket and sweatshirt as he enters. They're draped over his arm for a moment, and there's a moment of pause given when the cub notices Devon. "Uh, hey," he says. "I won't be long, or anything." A faint shrug is offered, as Flint pauses at the ladder to his bunk, shedding his shoes and throwing the jacket and sweatshirt up to the top.
Devon's gaze turns toward Flint, though he remains fully faced toward his computer. "Told you, it's your room too," he says quietly, gently pressing down the cover to his laptop then sliding it to rest between the wall and his mattress. "You don't have to run off right away unless someone's expecting you. —Or you want to." He still faces the wall, back to the room.
"Was just seeing if you wanted space," Flint says, before climbing the first few rungs to the top bunk. "Not that—," is added aloud, abruptly and more absently, most likely not directed at Devon at all. "Anyway." A moment passes, before the boy climbs back down, backpack in hand, retreating to sit on the floor and dig through it.
Neither is there movement, nor acknowledgement from Devon at first. He's silent, still but for a slight shift of his shoulders as he breathes. A long breath is exhaled, a little tense. "Sorry for yelling at you, Flint," he says after a while, still to the wall.
Flint seems mostly to be straightening what few possessions are in the backpack, because after a moment, it's zipped shut again, pushed over to next to his shoes idly. "'Sokay," the boy says, quiet. "Forgiven, and all."
"Thanks," Devon returns, more quietly and after another lengthy pause. He falls quiet again, seconds lengthening before there's movement from his bunk. Sitting up, he half turns toward Flint, though he's still directing his gaze elsewhere. "I didn't mean what I said either," he continues, arms hooking over his knees. "I don't think you're rude, and not all that lazy. —I was wrong."
Flint looks at Devon for only half a second, leaning back on his hands. "Thanks," the cub offers. "I'm sorry for being so snappish back at you, and all." Regardless that Flint's already apologised for this, it's repeated, the boy's gaze eventually settling on the ceiling.
Devon lifts one shoulder, a very typical answer from him. "Not like I didn't deserve it," he replies. "Fat moons just… make everything a hundred times worse." His head tips forward, chin toward chest, gaze resting on his blanket. It looks as though there's more he'd like to say, lips slightly parted and pulled back from his teeth, brows creased. A moment passes before he shakes his head, letting out another of those breaths.
Flint lets the silence continue for several moments longer when Devon stops speaking, fidgeting on the floor. "De nada," he eventually says, "'kay? It happens." Expression turns to a tight line for a moment, as Flint considers wording, but there's a shrug, nothing actually said.
"Happens too much," the Ahroun states, more to himself than to Flint. "I'm such a failure. This whole thing… I should've… I don't know."
"You're not a failure," Flint retorts after a moment. "Or a fuck up. Or." The cub looks over at the bunk bed. "If you want to, or whatever, help me with my sparring, I need it. But you're not a failure." If the juxtaposition of the two topics is random, the boy doesn't bring it up.
Devon shakes his head, even as Flint starts refuting his claim. His eyes close, part wince, part exhaustion. "I can, but… You're wrong. I tried so hard to prove I was a Glass Walker, to prove… That I could be a cub Mouse and everyone'd be proud of. And it's just… I don't know. They don't seem to be ever. It's like I'm always screwing up somewhere, even when I haven't done anything."
Flint furrows his brow a bit, but the cub doesn't apparently know the right things to say, though it's clear he thinks of — and discards — several options.
"Kevin's mad at me now," Devon goes on to explain. "He asked and… I thought… I just tried telling him how I felt about things here and now he's probably wishing I'd not come here, too. Mouse hardly talks to me, just puts me to grunt work, cleaning up after everything. Kavi's done with me now that I'm not a cub, hardly ever see him since his obligations as far as I go are filled."
Flint raises a hand to rub at his forehead, quiet for a moment longer. "It's a busy time, or something, amongst everything else," the boy says, thoughtful. "Even I haven't seen Kavi much other than pretty briefly, since." Since the slight lecture on respect that the both of them got, but that gets a shrug rather than said, and the boy pushes himself to his feet, leaning against the ladder to the bunkbed.
"Too busy to take a minute and ask how you're doing," Devon asks. He looks at Flint, conflicted in how much he's said already and what other fears or insecurities he'd like to put out there. "No one's ever approached me just to see how I was. Always been some lesson, something I did wrong or could've done better or needed to know for an eventuality. No one asked how I felt after we brought in that new cub."
"Killing that guy, and all?" Flint asks quietly, listening intently but politely the entire time that Devon speaks.
Devon nods after a moment. "I get that I'm supposed to do it and all. I'm an Ahroun, it's part of the job. Just… It… He was too far gone to save, I know that. But… what I did…"
"What you did," Flint says, still soft-spoken, "is kill a scumbag who probably didn't deserve very much to begin with." Brow furrows. "When we went after the guy that ran, he. It came out, they'd tried to attack her." There's a spat of disgust in his voice as he says that. "But, yeah."
"Doesn't make me feel any better about killing someone." Devon leans forward, forehead rubbing against his wrists. "It was just… cold calculative murder. Every other time it's been survival, but that… He'd've died anyway."
Flint nods, looking over at Devon. "Fair enough," he says. "He would have, yeah. Nothing's going to change that."
Devon sighs and shakes his head. "Sorry," he says, low toned and self dismissive. He unfolds himself, feet lowering to the floor. "Shouldn't dump these things on you. I'll …go, take my failures elsewhere."
"How many times…" Flint mutters, the words trailing off. It's not actually exasperated, though, more concerned. "It's okay, really," he tells Devon. "I listen good," the words lapse from the usual composure of the longer efforts at interaction, a little rougher at the edges. "And I dun mind."
"You might not mind," Devon says quietly, fishing out his shoes. "I do. You've got enough to worry about, Rite of Passage to get ready for and all." He pulls one shoe on, tying it. "You see Kevin, tell him I'm sorry?"
Flint nods, brow furrowing just a little further. "Stay and help me work on sparring and that stuff, then," the cub offers as an alternative, a change of topic more or less. "Don't have to talk, or anything."
"Not tonight," Devon answers, pulling on his second shoe. "I… it… Right now might be better if I go for a walk. Think I'll head down to Edgewood for the night. If tomorrow's better, we can work then."
Flint nods, pulling himself up a few rungs of the bunkbed at a time, backpack in hand until he reaches the top. "Don't be too hard on yourself, 'kay? I'll see you. And if I see Kevin, I will."
Devon stands, after tying the second shoe. He drags a hand over the top of his head before picking his jacket up off his bunk. "Thanks," he says, glancing toward Flint briefly. He pulls his jacket on as he walks toward the door.
Backpack is thrown to the corner of the bed where it lives, before Flint just lays down on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. "De nada, 'kay?" It's a question, but not one the cub is expecting an answer for.
Devon glances over his shoulder, not really toward Flint but in his general direction. He nods slowly as he turns back to the door, it's pulled closed quietly once he's out in the hall.